Holly tried to will her heart to slow down. Useless exercise. It kept pounding away behind her ribs, regardless.
"Sorry," she said with a stiff little smile. "I've delivered flowers here before, but I've never been inside. I'll just put these in the sink and help you look."
"Good idea."
She was still half filling the smaller of the two sinks with water when he said, "Bingo! Vases galore down in here!"
Snapping off the tap, she turned to find him hunched down in front of one of the lower cupboards, the fine wool of his grey trousers stretched tight across his buttocks and thighs. His shirt was having a similar problem as it tried to house his broad shoulders and back.
Holly swallowed. This was crazy. She'd never been the sort of girl to ogle men's bodies. She'd never cared if her past boyfriends had muscles or not. She'd once filled in a survey in a women's magazine asking what it was that first attracted her to a man and she'd put eyes. Dave had had twinkly blue eyes to go with his winning smiles.
This memory had just entered her head when Richard Crawford's head turned and two wintry grey eyes lifted to hers.
A strangely erotic shiver ran deep inside her.
"Plenty of different sizes here," he said. "What do you prefer?"
It was testimony to her shocking state of mind that her thoughts immediately jumped to the size, not of the various vases on offer, but of the part of his anatomy that was thankfully hidden by his squatting position.
"I'll have that glass one there on the right," she said. How she didn't blush when he handed it to her, she had no idea.
Actually arranging the flowers was a blessing. She could concentrate on what she did best, and not even look at him as he busied himself making some truly mouth-watering coffee. Not the instant kind. The kind that percolated.
Unfortunately, he finished his job first, after which he settled on one of the kitchen stools to watch her work. She knew it was probably her over-heated imagination, but Holly could have sworn his eyes were more on her than the flowers.
"You really are good at that," he said.
"It's my job," she returned, pleased to hear her voice didn't betray her inner turmoil.
"Have you always worked with flowers?"
"All my life. My dad was a florist. He trained me."
"Was?"
"He died just over two years back. A stroke."
"I'm sorry. That must have been tough on you and your family."
"My mother's dead too," she told him. "She died when I was just a toddler. But Dad married again when I was sixteen. I have a stepmother and a stepsister, Katie, who's two years younger than I am."
Holly refrained from blurting out that both females were wicked witches, especially Katie. She didn't want to sound like a whinger. She'd cried out her sob story to his mother, though, when she'd come into the shop one day, soon after Dave had dumped her.
"How old are you?" he asked.
"What? Oh, I'm twenty-six."
"That young," he said in a way that indicated he had thought her older.
Holly's already battered self-esteem took this added blow quite badly. All of a sudden, tears welled up in her eyes. Thank God she wasn't facing his way, giving her the opportunity to blink them away and gather herself once more.
But the incident put a stop to her foolishly getting excited at being alone with Richard Crawford. Which she had been. No use pretending she hadn't. She'd been thinking all sorts of silly things in the back of her head, such as he'd been looking at her with admiration and asking her questions because he was attracted to her.
God, she was laughable. If and when Richard Crawford started dating again, it would be with a woman like his wife. A sophisticated stunner. Holly had seen a framed photo of Joanna Crawford at the funeral. Talk about gorgeous! She'd also been supersmart. A literary agent, working for an international publisher whose head office was in New York. Mrs Crawford senior had told Holly all about her daughter-in-law-to-be when she'd dropped into the shop to select a mother-of-the-groom corsage the day before the wedding.
What interest could Richard Crawford possibly have in a simple girl who arranged flowers for a living, was passably attractive at best and had never been further from Sydney than the Central Coast?
CHAPTER FOUR
RICHARD could not believe how much he was enjoying just sitting there in his mother's kitchen, watching this lovely girl put flowers in a vase.
And she was lovely.
He'd now had the opportunity to study her at length, noting the perfect shape of her profile, the lushness of her lips, the slenderness of her neck and arms. His eyes followed each graceful movement as she snipped the end of a rose, then lifted it into place in the tall vase.
Her figure continued to entrance him as well. Although only of average height, she was beautifully in proportion with the hourglass shape he preferred in a woman. Her breasts looked naturally full, with no artificial enhancement. Her bra was of the thin variety, her nipples clearly outlined against the soft blue material of the T-shirt.
He wondered momentarily if they were erect because she was cold, or because she was as sexually aware of him as he was of her. He had no way of knowing. She wasn't in any way flirtatious, which he liked. Joanna had been a terrible flirt.
But it would be good to have a sign that the attraction he felt was mutual. Were hard nipples a reliable sign?
"Are you still cold?" he asked, and watched as she turned an annoyingly unreadable face his way.
"Cold?" she repeated blankly. "No. Not really."
Mmm. Maybe her nipples were always like that.
His flesh tightened at the thought.
"I don't think I should put any more of the roses in this vase," she announced, tipping her head charmingly to one side as she surveyed the arrangement of richly coloured blooms. "It's perfectly balanced right now. Any more would spoil it."
"You're right," he agreed. "It's perfect."
Just like you, he thought, and wondered how soon he could ask her out. Obviously, not till he found out her boyfriend situation.
The phone began to ring, which annoyed him no end. For one thing, it was out in the hallway and not in the kitchen.
"Won't be a moment," he said. "Why don't you find another smaller vase for the rest of the roses whilst I'm gone?" he suggested. He knew how awkward it could be, standing round at a loose end whilst people chatted on the phone. He didn't want her finding any excuse to leave.
It was his mother on the phone, being uncharacteristically but blessedly brief, allowing him to get back to Holly before she'd finished doing the second vase.
"That was Mum. I've been invited to go to lunch at Melvin's place tomorrow. Sorry, but I'd say the travelling companion job has definitely been taken," he finished, thinking of how eager his mother had been to get back to the new man in her life.
Holly gave him a wan little smile. "I never imagined anything else. Well, I'll be off, then, Mr Crawford. I don't think I'll stay for coffee, but thank you for the offer."
Richard was taken aback. Had he been overly optimistic, hoping the chemistry he'd been feeling was mutual? Maybe he'd lost the knack of knowing when a woman fancied him and when she didn't. Yet he'd been sure he'd sensed something in Holly's body language whenever their eyes had met.
Maybe she was nervous of him. He knew he sometimes made women nervous.
"You have something you have to go home for?" he asked, and made eye contact with her again. This time he saw what he hoped he'd see. That flicker. That spark.
"There's always work to do when you run a business," she replied.
"Please don't go," he said with a smile that would have rivalled Reece's on the charm meter. "I was really enjoying your company."
She blinked. "Really?"
"Really. And whilst we're having our coffee, I want you to tell me what it is you thought you needed to escape from?"
It took him a good half an hour to get all the details out of her-and to get her to call him Richard. But once the full picture of Holly's position was clear, he felt furious on her behalf. The poor girl. Betrayed by her boyfriend with her stepsister. Betrayed by her stepmother with the business.
And no one to stand up for her!
No wonder she wanted to escape. Why would she want to stay with a family who clearly didn't love her? Or continue to work hard for no rewards? Such a situation was not only unjust, it was untenable.
"You could have contested your father's will, you know," he pointed out sternly.
Her velvety eyes showed surprise. "Really?"